I AM A FISH, DAMMIT
by Aracalien
Summary: What happens when your best friend chokes on your cassarole, thinks he's a fish, and insists on driving from the hosptial in his birthday suit? A RONHERMIONE story
1. Chapter 1

(A/n: I would like to point out that if I owned the world of Harry Potter I would be off in Scotland with a husband and a knack for writing brilliant things.

The personality of the All Purpose Box is not mine either-if you can guess which brilliantly hilarious British story it belongs to, then I might just send you a lemonsicle-they are really good.)

**I AM A FISH, DAMMIT**

I stabbed the carrots violently, knocking over the bag of potatoes near my elbow, and sending the spuds rolling across the kitchen floor. HE was coming in ten minutes. _Ten minutes_. And one of the thirteen house elves I'd adopted had taken my wand in some fit of rebellion to clean-(they had had been threatening they would do this for weeks, for I had strictly forbidden them to even dust so much as a my Chudley Cannons quill-holder, which, coincidently, was given to me by HIM on my 17th birthday).

The elves were going into fits of cleaning withdrawal, I was wandless and I had _six minutes_ left to cook the chicken-salad-casserole before HE arrived.

Let me just tell you right now, cooking is…well, it's not my thing. Mum tried to teach me a few years ago, saying "How can you be the top witch in your potions class, and yet manage to scorch a simple chocolate cake into a crisp? Hmmm...?"

In another attempt I found out the little spoon with the T on it does not, in fact, mean 'teaspoon.' Adding entirely too much yeast + 300 degrees Fahrenheit equals one colossal mess.

Although I managed to clean up all the bits of cake mix that had been lobbed all over the kitchen, I'm afraid the poor stove didn't have a chance. It blew up.

I shoved the carrots into Mrs. Pintong's Box For All Purposes. "COOK THE DAMN CARROTS!" I bellowed. If objects with no distinguishable features could throw reproachful looks, this one would take the cake.

"PLEASE" I added. I did not have time to deal with incompetent boxes right now. I had other colossal fish to fry.

Speaking of frying...

"MY POTATOES!"-the few that I had managed to salvage from the more cleaner areas of the kitchen floor and throw into a frying pan were on fire.

And that is when the doorbell rang.

House elves stampeded to the front door, fighting each other to be the one to open it. I used this time to grab the flaming pan of potatoes off the stove and fling them into the sink.

I had to fling them because that is when the searing pain that comes from grabbing something that is on fire finally reached my hands (that pause between the time your skin touches something incredibly painfully and the moment that incredible pain finally shoots into your finger is not very long I found. Not very long at all...).

"OWWWWWWWWWWWW!" I dropped the frying pan, ran to the sink, and stuck my hands under the faucet that had been conveniently running throughout this whole fiasco.

The flaming pan clanged loudly as it hit the floor. Meanwhile Twonke and Fibbs were fist-fighting over the doorknob, and HIS voice wafted over the whole ruckus to my poor ears-"Hermione? Are you in there? I came a bit early, is that alright?"

I hated to do it, really I did. All those months trying to teach them free will was about to go down the tubes. But I had no choice.

Wincing, I brought my burnt fingers up to my lips and blew.

All thirteen of the squabbling elves snapped identically into a stiff-backed obedient stance. The poor souls.

"Look-er-I'm really sorry, but could you please stay in your cupboards tonight? I promise I'll make it up to you in the morning. How do waffles sound?" Before I even got the last endearing offer in, the elves vanished from the room as quick as lightning.

"Hermione?"

"Er-hold on a second Ron, I-"

HE opened the door.

I sat on the floor surrounded by dirty potatoes.

"Er-hello, Hermione-bad time?"

"..."

Damn potatoes.

"Do you want these carrots or not, they're getting rather cold," interrupted the moody all-purpose box.

"I'll get them" said Ron quickly. He crossed over to the morose box, pausing on the way to put out the smoking pan.

Meanwhile I pushed myself up. "Well there goes a perfectly rom-"I stopped myself just in time and cleared my throat. "Perfectly good meal.

"I lost my wand" I explained.

He turned around and had one of those adorable smirks on his face. "They took it, didn't they?"

"What?" I said, distracted as the stove started beeping.

"They were threatening to do it for weeks-Hermione they _want_ to clean and do things for you. Why don't you let them? They could even cook for you...I mean...not that...you know...just if you wanted them to..." he drabbled off lamely.

"Just _what _are you trying to say _Ron?_" That was it. He had touched an already worn-out nerve. I knew I couldn't cook for the life of me, even if the little blighters hadn't stolen my wand all of my dishes would still taste awful. But still. He did not have to mention it.

"Nothing!" he said quickly. "I mean-"

"I have been _trying _to make this meal for over _two hours, without _magic, and I would _really appreciate_ it if you would step into the other room!"

"Herm-"

"MOVE!"

He sheepishly shuffled into the living room.

I went over to the stove and threw open the door, gagging on the profuse amount of dark smoke that was coming out, and singing my eyes. I bravely stuck my hands in and pulled out the casserole. It wasn't as burnt as it could be.

I put the smoldering dish on the burner to cool and leaned against a nearby cabinet to think.

By now I was feeling a bit bad about yelling at Ron. He probably didn't mean it...

I'll admit he can be a tactless idiot-at times. But, over the years, I've learned that you've got to give him the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise you'd never get anywhere.

A soft _thunk...thunk...thunk_ was coming from the direction of the elves' sleeping cupboards. I suspected they were going into convulsions, as I had a guest, a meal to mangle, and they haven't held an iron in weeks.

"Ron-it's ready!" I yelled as I dumped all of the spices in the pantry on the smoky black casserole and transferred the charred potatoes into a bowl.

I turned to call him again when I bumped straight into him.

"Er- sorry." he said.

For a second we just looked at each other, and I noticed how intensely blue his eyes were and realized, suddenly, how warm the room was.

The All Purpose box sighed. "I suppose I should just turn myself off, then, if you don't want these carrots." And the box turned itself off.

Ron blinked and looked away. Whoever gave Mrs. Pintong's All Purpose Box the ability to talk ought to be locked in a crate and dropped into the murky depths of the Atlantic Ocean with a Blast Ended Skewrt as a travel mate.

"Well-it's ready," I said.

**5 minutes later**

Ron was sawing through the smoky block that vaguely resembled a casserole. I was picking at my soggy carrots.

_Alright Hermione, you can do this-you've known him for ten years for merlin's sake._

**He didn't look like that ten years ago,** said the nasty little voice inside my head.

_Concentrate!_

**But look at him-**

_Yes,alright,he does look-wait-what's he doing?_

**Choking, by the looks of it**

"OH MY GOD-RON!"

* * *

(A/n -REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! (please))

PS. There WILL be a twist coming up-the title is a big hint.


	2. 2

(A/n Hello, my beauties! Thank you to EVERYONE you has reviewed-I love you all! You really are fabulous. Here is the second chapter, as promised).

* * *

"RON!" He was bent over the table, hacking and coughing violently. I stood there, looking at him, for a moment with a speared carrot dangling limply from my fingers before my mind finally sprang into action.

I looked wildly around the kitchen for something that could unlodge whatever it was that was wedged in his throat. Maybe a large spoon.

In a fit of desperation I leapt over Ron's convulsing body (which had flopped over during my dumping of the utensil draw) and sprinted down the hall. "Doke, Twonke, Knobb, Fibbs-WHERE IS MY WAND?" For I had just recalled that I was a witch.

_FLASHBACK_

"Yes-of course-but there's no wood!" I cried, wringing my hands.

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?" Ron bellowed. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT?"

_End Flashback_

Ironic.

But before I could get too nostalgic the house elves went into frenzy. "Gordy had it!" "NO-it was Fibbs, HE hid it in the-" "That was _last week_: Fonz has it, don't you?" "No I don't-" "I saw you hide it-" "GIVE HIM CLOTHES"

There was a time when they were complaisant, docile little things.

"FORGET IT!" I sprang back down the hall and burst back into the kitchen.

Ron was on the floor. He was no longer choking, but rather making odd gasping noises and seemed to be inching toward Mrs. Pintong's All Purpose Box. Looking at the object, something clunked into my brain.

Leaping over Ron (again), I seized the Box and shoved it over his head.

Nothing happened.

"HELP HIM!" I screamed. I was near hysterics now.

"What," said the Box irritably after turning itself back on.

I politely repeated my request, and, after some prodding, the box dropped several hundred gallons of water on Ron.

My kitchen is the size of a more fortunate person's walk-in-closet. Walk-in-closets do not hold several hundred gallons of water. They might hold a pint if you're daring, but that's the limit.

There was a loud groaning of strain under the lake of water we were floating in. The floor collapsed.

I screamed as I plunged, two stories, while drowning in the Niagara Falls. If I had not swallowed so much water while screaming, I might not have passed out.

But, a 30 foot fall and solid mass of water landing right after can do that to a person: especially if they were already teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

Right before the wall of water hit me like a freight train, I caught a glimpse of Ron, grinning madly at me from under the box.

* * *

After what felt like an eternity of sleep, I cracked an eye open and then shut it again. There was a blinding white light glaring at me.

I groaned and tried to move my head away from the light, but stopped quickly at the severe pounding against my skull. _Where am I?... Where's Ron?_ Were the first two thoughts that drifted across my mind.

I vaguely registered someone whispering quietly, "She's awake………give her more morphine……." _Morphine? That sounds like…….._

And then I was gone.

Another eternity of darkness later I was beginning to feel again- as if someone had clobbered my limbs with an enormous hammer.

"No…..no….well, I suppose. But the box? Yes-where did you put it? Well bring it here. Perhaps this one can tell us……What? What do you mean it won't-"

My eyes snapped open. The Box….water…it was all painfully coming back to me.

"Ron!" The doctor jumped. "Where is he?" I demanded.

"The man with a dressing gown on and a box stuck over his head that's constantly pouring out water?"

It took a moment to understand what he meant.

"It's still doing that?" I asked, weakly. He drowned, he's dead. He's dead. Something cold and sickening was gripping my lungs, while my mind buzzed numbly. Dead. Ron. No…but...I never…we never….

"He's fine." I looked at him. I couldn't form comprehensible thoughts, but I could feel something warm and happy welling up in my throat. Alive…. "Amazingly he's been flopping around and yelling things for the last five hours. The nurse in his room thinks says he keeps shouting 'My knee!', but there seems to be no damage whatsoever to either of his knees. A special psychiatrist is working with him now, mainly to check his sanity. I'm afraid your husband may have suffered some brain damage from all of the water-the box just won't come off."

Several thoughts swarmed into my head during this monologue, each one as odd and amazing as the next:

Ron was not dead

This was a muggle hospital

Ron was shouting my name

All of the people in the hospital would probably have to have they're memories modified, as word of a man with a box stuck over his head that was spewing out the Atlantic Ocean travels fast

The doctor called him my husband.

I went whoozy from processing all of the information at once, and leaned back onto the pillows. Husband….hahaha…..he called him my…….

"What do you mean you gave her-?"

"You said 'Give her more morphine'".

"I thought you would only give her one dose-"

"Well, it won't kill her."

I was watching this hazy spectacle with a lopsided grin. The room was tilting a bit, and I was slowly sliding off my bed, which I realized looked just like Frank Sinatra if you squint really hard.

"Whoah there." One of the three doctors came over and pushed my back onto the star of "Guys and Dolls". The other two were trying to help him, but missed and were just lifting air.

"Haha, you guys should check….shoould check…….I mean," I slurred. "My hushband." I giggled.

"Would you-would you like to see him, m'am? I'll have the nurse send him in." He and the other two doctors walked away, muttering "Bunch of crazies". The nurses left too, all throwing simultaneous worried looks at me.

I hummed a little bit of "Luck Be a Lady" while the machines winked and beeped at me. They were goading me on. "Well who am I to refuse an audience?" I said to the green monitor to my right.

I swaggered to my feet and started singing:

"They call you lady luck  
But there is room for doubt  
At times you have a very un-lady-like way  
Of running ouuuuut!"

"SOOO LUCK BE A LADY TONIIIIIIIIGHT!" I bent my knees and an elaborate curtsy.

The room did a violent swing and I fell sideways off Frank Sinatra.

"Er-My-Nee!"

I looked to see six nurses holding two and a half Rons. Both the whole one and the half-Ron was flopping violently in the nurses' hands.

"Ron….haha…..guessh what? We're _married_. Isn't that great? Hahah…….I mean…….that's what….that's what….I mean…..I always wanted. Hahaha….." And that's when the overdose of morphine suddenly stopped working.

I gasped. Mostly out of pain, really, because my head just started throbbing like a billio. But also because of what I had just let vibrate out of my voice box and travel in wavelengths toward Ron's box, where his ears were inside.

(A/n Well, that's where I'm leaving it, folks. I might have written more if I wasn't leaving in ten minutes, but a figured I should update before I forget. The next chapter will probably be next Sunday, because I have loads of homework to sift through during the week. Now, I know morphine doesn't really make you that drunk delusional, but it was good fun to write so I stretched it. I would also like to thank Slytherin Love Goddess, Yabberli, Hiscifit, EyesofBlue1993, marcy, fruitkiss and fruitygumballs. You guys ROCK

Now, if you would be so kind as to push that little purple button. You know the one. :-D


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Ron stopped jerking around. Two of the nurses hoisted me back onto the stark white hospital bed; I collapsed onto the pillows, taking deep breaths. By now the box over Ron's head had stopped gushing out the world's supply of water, and was now only dripping a bit.

I looked out of the hospital window, four floors up it looked like. It was dark and gusty out as the wind tore some flyers off the few scattered cars left in the hospital parking lot. Then something struck me-"How did we get here?" I asked the plump nurse who was tucking the sheets under my mattress.

She shrugged. "Ask him," she said, thumbing the doctor over her shoulder.

He looked up from his clipboard. "Huh?"

"How did we get here? Did someone give us a ride?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. By a Mr…..Potter? He left a message at the front desk. Tomorrow morning you can ask Mrs. Perkiss for it, or I could send someone down for you."

I glanced at the clock. It was past three-thirty in the morning. "R-" A gentle snore was coming from inside the box. "We'll stay the night, I think."

"Your husband can stay in here if you want. We'll send for an extra cot." Without waiting for an answer the beer-bellied doctor strode out of the room and disappeared down the hallway. The nurse dragged Ron's dead weight over to one of the blue visiting chairs and left too.

Did Ron even hear what I said? I tried to convince myself otherwise. _He was asleep this whole time. Plus he probably couldn't even hear in the first place, what with the box and the rushing water pouring over his ears._

I wasn't fooling myself. He stopped jerking right when I said it. But maybe if neither of us mentions it, we could forget this night ever happened. I was under the influence of morphine, it wasn't my fault. Besides. I don't even feel _that way _about him anymore-its been five years since I cried on his shoulder, If fact…

I looked over to the chair next to me. On it were my robes, folded neatly on top of my favorite blue-green jeans and shirt. I can see now why they thought we were married-two grown adults of the opposite sex in 'bathrobes' at seven o'clock on a Saturday night? It had 'tragic housewife and overly worked husband' written all over it. Although we don't have wedding bands and….._wait a minute_. I looked down at my left hand and saw a ring.

_What….Oh._

It was my grandmother's wedding ring. Two years ago she lay on her death bed and said "Here. For that red-haired bloke you've been dating. He's the one. He's going to want to propose soon, so now you'll be armed and ready. Hermione, don't let 'em slip away, cause them men are always slippin' and a slidin' all over the place. Why your Grandpa…"

Following this was a tale I'd like to suppress from ever resurfacing in my memory. But she didn't know that Ron and I were not dating at all, but actually flying all over the world with Harry trying to find and destroy all of the horcruxes. Which we did.

Harry was brilliant dueling Voldemort, and right after the deed was done he swept Ginny off of her feet and said "Marry me." The entire female population of the Wizarding World that turned up to root for Harry swooned. I swooned. Ron fainted and never said a word to me again. Until he owled me last week that is.

"Hermione. Hermiiione…. What, is she still out cold?"

I cracked an eye open. For one wild second I thought it was Ron sitting on the edge of my bed with an orange skirt.

"She's alive!" Ginny said dramatically, grinning at me under her fiery mane of hair. "So-I take it Ron has managed to squash any hope of you two ever getting together," she said casually as she opened a muggle magazine and flicked through the pages. "Again," she added as she threw the issue into the trash bin near the door.

I flopped back onto the pillows and massaged my aching eyes. How did I suddenly pass out again? Must have been the overwhelming nostalgia. "Actually this one is my fault. Or Ron might have poisoned his own food when he saw me like that, covered in soot and potato peels. Death by meatloaf. He would do anything rather than lasting out the evening with a fried out, fanatical failure of a chef with her troupe of houselves, I expect."

"Hermione."

"What?"

"Stop killing yourself over him. Who was the one who told me in my third year 'If he comes round, he comes round, but you bloody well have a good time while he's still being an idiot'"

"I said that?"

"Something to that effect. Anyway, what do you think?"

"Of what?" I said, muffled by the cool pillow I had over my face.

"This dress-the one in the corner, under these hideous shoes."

I lifted the pillow an inch. Through the crack I could see the shoes-they _were_ hideous (fluorescent yellow with the ugliest flowers you ever saw monogrammed on the heel)-but they were like sparkling glass slippers compared to the disaster Ginny was jabbing with her finger. A Lace Nightmare if I ever saw one. It was ironically similar to the little number Ron wore to the Yule Ball-maroon and resembling a doily regurgitated by the sewing machine.

I pressed my face back into the pillow. "You've got to be kidding me."

Ginny laughed and snorted into her coffee. "That's what I'm ordering for the bridesmaids, Hermione. Though since _you're _the maid of honor, you get to have a matching tiara. You'll look so dashing Ron here will whisk you off your feet and together you'll ride into the sunset!"

I threw the pillow at her.

"Oi!" she spluttered, cackling as some of the coffee sopped onto her skirt and the bed sheets.

"Well," I said, eyeing the brown stain spreading over the orange fabric. "It matches the dress at least." She gave me one of the infamous Ginny Weasley Death Glares as she flicked her wand at the mess-it disappeared instantly.

She opened her mouth to retort when Ron stirred again in the chair. I did a double take-he had _gills_. They were greyish and shiny on his calves, forearms and neck. His feet were webbed and so were his hands-once in a while the mutations would expand half-heartedly, like a dying fish on a boat deck. Mrs. Pintong's Box For All Occasions let a steady stream of water down his front.

I tried to figure out what the heck happened last night. Which is not very easy with a concussion.

I recapped the evening still by still-there had to be something I did, or _he _did. Things like this don't just happen-even in the wizarding world.

A droll, bored voice cut through my analysis. "If no-ones going to at least say 'Well Done' for keeping this ungrateful man alive all night, not to mention all the energy it took to magically obtain thousands of gallons of water out of thin air for the last ten hours then I might as well shut myself off."

And right as the answer dropped sickeningly into my head Mrs. Pintong's Box For All Occasions turned itself off, and with it went the small trickle of water Ron was breathing. Oh god.

How many times did I kill this person?

* * *

(A/n: Alright. It's been almost a month. And this chapter sucks. The reason? Homework. Lots of it. And laziness too. But here it is, if any of you are still willing to read it. Please Review or else I won't think anyone's reading, and what's the point of updating if no one reads it? So REVIEW. (One extremely large thank you to everyone who is still out there-I love you all.)

PS I promise it _will _get better. Think of this as an interchapter, or whatever your English teacher tells you the boring filler pages are officially called.


	4. Chapter 4

(A/n: Sound the hallelujah chorus, I'm updating. It's been what...three months? Not acceptable. So now, without further ado, Chapter Four).

* * *

Forty minutes later I was in a hospital ward-this time, thankfully, it was in St. Mungo's. The muggle doctors were so suspicious they insisted on taking a urinary test on Ron-that was when we decided to inconspicuously wheel Ron out of the maternity ward.

"Excuse me!" A blonde nurse with no visible eyebrows and a soft, timid voice was trying to get our attention. "Excuse me!"

"Back off!" I said, furiously trying to push the stretcher through the metal detector.

"Excuse me!" she said, lightly tapping me on the shoulder. I ignored her and tried to maneuver Ron through the space between the metal detector and the door.

"HEY!" bellowed No-Eyebrows.

"WHAT!" I roared back

"You dropped your...stick."

"Oh."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"She means thanks." Ginny said, taking the wand and, while pretending to examine the hospital map, expanded the gap behind her back.

The nurse was walking away, muttering about pagans.

Anyway. As soon as we wheeled Ron outside, we Side-Apparated him to St. Mungo's. It was tricky because he kept jerking around a bit. He's lucky all of him made it here... at least, the parts I know about. No report yet on the nether regions.

"Ooohh. My head." Unlike muggle anesthetics, sleeping draughts used for surgery at St. Mungo's leave major migraines.

"Mornin' sunshine!" said Ginny, laughing when he winced.

"Owww...not so loud...Hermione?"

"Guess again, lover boy." He winced again. "I'm guessing you haven't picked up your tux yet?"

Huh? Oh yeah. The wedding.

"Huh?" he said.

"While you were off in Happy Fish Land I've taken the liberty of ordering your tux for you." He blinked. "For my _wedding._"

"Oh. Yeah. Of course-the wedding. D'you think I'd forget my best friend in the entire world's" (little offended here) "and my baby sister's wedding! In fact," he said, now really getting into it and making a gallant effort to sit up, "That's why I was Hermione's."

_Huh?_

"Er, _well_...I went there to talk to her about...the um...the flowers".

"The flowers?" she said, crossing her arms. She didn't buy this for a second.

"Yeah, you know. Remember? You told me that we were in charge of the flowers? And I said, 'Of course we'll help you! I'm there for you Gin-gin.'"

Great. Now he was dragging me into this.

"You. I put _you _in charge of the flowers?"

"Yes."

"You are in charge of haggling with all the local florists, color coordinating them with the bridesmaid dresses _and, _most important of all, arranging them in an such an attractive manner that suggests I spent a fortune on this wedding, when really I only splurged on the dress?" she demanded.

He blinked. "Yes."

"Fine. But if you mess this up the _both _of your heads will roll." She looked so dangerous that I didn't say anything. Pre-wedding stress can do that to a person.

"Now. I'm getting an espresso. You two stay here and work this out-Hermione, you know what color the dresses are, and Ron, you can...buy the ribbons. Get complementary colors, not the color of the flower. If all else fails, get white. I'll meet you at the Burrow on Thursday and see what you've come up with-and it'd better be good." She gave him her best death-glare, and added "Sorry, Hermione. But you know how much he will screw this up if you don't keep him in check. Good luck."

And she left, looking like a mission impossible die-hard, wearing a black trench-coat-style jacket and her death-glare.

"Hermione?" he said, looking sheepish.

I copied Ginny and gave him a death glare.

"So, now what do you plan to do?"

"Well, as soon as the potion they gave me kicks in and these gills are off I'll sign myself out and we'll pop round the nearest florist and buy the flowers. I mean, how hard could it be to buy a few daisys?"

Oh, if only he knew.

I sighed and collapsed on the nearest chair.

"So. What've you been up to for the last four years?"

He looked sheepish again. I would be too, if I had cut off all contact with my best friend for apparently no reason.

"Well...I'm an auror now." he said, his ears red.

"I know, Harry told me...Congratulations."

"Thanks...So. What have _you _been doing?"

All of a sudden all of the hurt feelings and rage of him not even owling me for the last half decade boiled up inside of me and exploded. "_Why were you avoiding me_?"

"A-avoiding you?"

"For the last four years!"

"I-I wasn't-"

"Don't you tell me you never even imagined I wouldn't ask you what the bloody hell you were thinking by not even sending me one bloody letter for the last FOUR BLOODY YEARS!" I had lost it.

"Hermioine..I"

"WHAT? I"M LISTENING! GO AHEAD TELL ME SOME COCKED UP STORY!"

"Hermione...I'm sorry."

This caught me so off guard I just stared at him, breathing heavily.

"I'm so sorry." He looked up at me, with those big blue eyes.

"What happened?" I asked quietly.

"Auror training happened. Harry knows-we went through it together. For three years he and I were holed up at the Ministry, performing rigorous tests and studying thousands of obscure methods of death eater catching. Harry always wrote to Ginny and you, and I sometimes sent something to Ginny. But...I always chickened out when I thought of writing to you. "

"Why?"

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter now."

The was an awkward silence. I cleared my throat. "Well. You look all healed up. So how about those flowers?"

* * *

**Voila, chapitre quatre. I'm really pleased with this chapter-even though its kind of short, I know. Tell me if you liked it, or any criticisms are absolutely welcome. Go on, click the button-you know you want to :). **


	5. Chapter 5

**_This is getting on really slowly, isn't it? Well here's Chapter Five-Fluff galore!_**

_**Disclaimer: No.

* * *

**_

Ron stared at the mess of colored lines crisscrossing on the route-grid. "And this makes sense to muggles?" he said, tracing the green line and wiping off ten years of merlin-knows-what.

I smacked his hand and ignored his "_What?"_. I was stuck, beyond irritated, in this tiny, grubby little train going ten miles a leap-year and was not at all happy about it.

This was all Ron's fault.

Who dragged me into this mess?

He did.

Who thought up the great idea of going muggle-style to London?

He did.

And who, beyond any comprehension of anyone human, was about to pull the little red lever that says: DO NOT PULL EXCEPT IN CASE OF EMERGENCY?

He was.

"No!" I yelled, too late-the wheels under us squealed shrilly as we came to an abrupt stop, sending two businessmen and a grocery bag flying.

"_Ron!" _I hissed.

"_What!" _he said again.

That was just the beginning of the fiasco that was my day.

* * *

Two Headaches, a Migraine, and one Exceptionally Large Dose of Healer Fudd's All-Healing Head Solutions Draught later, we were standing outside of a flower shop.

"You've got to be kidding me," said Ron, as we entered the violently pink door. "It looks like that Umbridge woman's office threw up on this place," he said, looking revolted at the equally violent shade of pink that covered almost everything inside the place like the Blob.

"It's not that bad," I lied, although my view of the room was being blocked by an enormous pink-and-yellow lacy something flouncing in front my face.

"Ahhhh…," said (I could only guess) the lace, "You're the couple looking for the pansies? Well they're in the back there I'll get them in a mo'-I've got to get Ramundo out here-RAMUNDO! Where the bloody hell did he go?" The enormous lacy something shifted revealing a squat woman with enormous flashy glasses and a bad temper.

Just then a handsome, Spanish man appeared behind the counter.

No, a _gorgeous _Spanish man appeared behind the counter-he even had one of those dazzling smiles that I'm a sucker for.

He looked around, spotted me (Ron was mostly hidden by a few dozen begonias the lady was piling into his hands), and made a beeline for us. I felt heat rising into my cheeks and turned to make sure that Ron could not see my face.

But trailing along his feet, clutching the attractive Spaniard's shoelaces and stumbling hopelessly with each of his long strides was a tiny decrepit house elf.

And the poor thing was whimpering.

"_Shut up! Can't you see we have a_-"the man stopped and considered me, "very _beautiful _customer?" he asked, but he was no longer looking at the elf. Anger shot up my body and burned my already red face. He thought I would be impressed by his _blatant abuse _of the poor house elf! This guy had another thing coming.

Ron looked around the heap of flowers and stared at the employee, then me. Clearing his throat purposefully, he dropped the begonias onto a nearby shelf of Easter-themed garden accessories. "_Excuse me,_" said Ron in a dangerously low voice I had never heard before. "My-"he glanced at me, "_fiancé_ and I are looking for some flower arrangements for _our wedding_," he said, putting a lot of emphasis on 'wedding'. Midway through opening my mouth in a retort to the Spanish man's insolent comment, I froze.

The elf-abuser looked slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Of course…" he said with a slight sneer. "_Sir."_

"Do you know what_ dear_?" I said suddenly, "I don't fancy this place has what we're looking for. Let's go."

And I stalked out of the store, clutching Ron by the arm. "How _dare _that man-kicking the poor thing like he was some sort of-_I have a half mind to march right back in there and demand he release-"_

But Ron had gently put his hand on my shoulder. "I know, Hermione," he said, sounding happy about something. He glanced me, clearly amused. "Oh, and you've got a begonia in your hair."

Ron reached up and deftly plucked the flower from my hair-I shuddered, involuntarily, at his touch.

. For a moment we stood like that, him still touching my hair and me completely forgetting what I was ranting about just a minute ago, as my mind was washed over in waves of tingly shock.

He stared at me, something flickering in his eyes.

And without thinking, I leaned in toward him…

In a fraction of a second I thought I saw his eyes dart toward my lips, but in the next a searing pain shot through my side and I was thrown hard onto the cement ground.

The wind was knocked out of me as I hit the sidewalk.

I saw Ron whip around. "OI!" he shouted at someone behind me, and made to run after him. But suddenly he stopped, looking down at me. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking concerned as he put out his hand.

I grasped it and he heaved me onto my feet. My ribs throbbed. "I'll live," I said, feeling my midsection and wincing. "Who was that?" I asked looking round for the culprit. But only swarms of jabbering muggles doing spring shopping were visible.

"Roguer," he said, referring to the few rogue death eaters that had managed to slip through the Ministry's net arrests right after Voldemort met his downfall. Fools. They still wore their masks and Death Eater robes even-it amazes me that any of them are still at large with the entire floor of Ministry Aurors left with nothing better to do than to catch the likes of them.

Which reminded me, "And you didn't chase after him?" I asked him, trying not to sound too accusing.

He looked uncomfortable. "Well, no, but…" and he muttered something to his shoes.

"Pardon?" I asked.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right," he said more clearly.

"Oh."

We both shifted uncomfortably for a moment until he finally suggested we get lunch.

Together we crossed the busy street and entered a dark, noisy pub. I wrinkled my nose in disgust-there were at least twenty people here smoking what smelled like a Mundungus Fletcher brand of fungus cigars and the sweet thick odor of sweat. Ron shrugged apologetically, "It's the only place for five miles, and I know the bar tender…"

"Right," I said, wanting to get in and out of this place as fast as possible.

"This way," he said, taking my hand-my fingers tingled pleasantly and a peculiar swooping sensation took hold of my midriff.

I managed to fight down a blush while he pulled me toward a pair of empty bar stools. What was happening to me? I swore I got over him around a year after he left. Damn left over feelings. Before you knew it I might just fall in love with him again.

Wait-what?

"Sandwich or soup, Hermione?" Ron was saying from a great distance.

I shook my head to get rid of the silly notions and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

"Hermione?"

"Umm…that's fine Ron. Who did you say you knew in here again?"

"Seamus Finnigan. Are you all right, you look a bit pale," he said, wearing that cursed concerned look that kept making me weak at the knees all day.

"Fine," I said, but really I was feeling a bit lightheaded. Must have been all of the Mundungus fumes.

"Ron!" said a familiar voice, still thick with Irish brogue. "How are you? And-Blimey, Hermione! Fancy seeing you lot!"

"Hello Seamus!" said Ron, shaking the Irishman's hand.

"So, I heared you two were engaged. Congrats!" Seamus said, beaming at us.

"Erm-no, actually. No, we're not engaged," said Ron, his ears beet red. Seamus looked disappointed.

"Where did you hear that?" I asked, bewildered. This was at least the third time we had been mistaken for a married couple since that casserole-fiasco. It was starting to get creepy.

He looked thoughtful. "I think it was one of your relatives Ron," Seamus said, scratching his chin. "Red-'aired bloke, dressed in the finest dragon skin. Looked as sharp as anything-"

"George!" Ron spat, looking outraged.

"What?" I said, nonplussed.

"He wasn't supposed to-"

He cut himself off and turned an even deeper shade of red. Rubbing the back of his neck, he mumbled "He wasn't supposed to tell anyone…that I was going to…er…" He looked almost pained. "Well it doesn't matter now," Ron said quickly.

What was he going to do that involved George and a false marriage?

I was on the point of asking him when my sandwich came, distracting me with its noxious fumes. I couldn't even tell the meat and the cheese apart-they were both covered in some bluish stuff that I strongly suspected was mold. Quietly, I shoved the thing into my purse while Seamus and Ron weren't looking and flushed it down the toilet in the Ladies Room first chance I got.

And just as I was washing away the disgusting sandwich scum from my hands, someone stepped out of a stall. Glancing at the mirror I saw it was a man.

I did a double-take.

The man had a Death Eater mask. It was the Roguer from before!

* * *

**Please _please _review! Criticism always loved. **


	6. Chapter 6

For the muffin in my stomach,  
making me too full to do anything  
except write this chapter.

Chapter Six

"Look who it is-the Mudblood Granger..." said the Roguer in an all-too familiar voice. "I see you've grown nicely since our last-ah-parting," he drawled. My face burned, but I knew better than to rise to his bait.

"Funny," he continued, "I assumed you were dead after Lestrange hit you with that Garishing Curse."

"You weren't looking so hot either after Ron's Jelly-legs jinx!" I spat back, losing all pretense. "Tripped right into Voldemort as he was about to finish off Harry; I'll have him send you a thank you card."

I could picture the face twisting into a sneer behind the mask clearer than if I had x-ray vision.

"You were always such a pain, Mudblood. But we can fix that."

I saw the flicker of movement in his robes. I whipped out my wand before he even had a chance.

"Drop it, Malfoy."

"I don't think so, Mudblood. You see, I didn't come into the women's loo to enjoy the scenery, as…fetching…as it's turned out to be…"

He made a sudden movement with his hand, and five cloaked Roguers Apparated in a swirl of black fabric.

And for some wild reason, out of the clear blue skies, I took that moment-not to run, scream for help, or even attempt to try out a few of the new jinxes I've recently learned about in _Curses-Conspicuous, Colorful, Contagious, Claustrophobia-Causing and More!_ . Nope. That would be the reasonable, intelligent, or even instinctive thing to do.

I stood there, gaping.

Because I had suddenly realized why Ron was so mad at George.

Oh my god.

He- 

"Ouch!" One of the Roguers had suddenly grabbed my roughly around the middle and the others were closing in.

"That's my foot you-MMMPHH!" One of them had stuffed a gag into my throat.

_Really, now. __  
_  
Fortunately for me, I was the best witch in my year at nonverbal spells- I racked my brain for a good one.

…….. 

_I can't think of any! My mind's gone blank! Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. I'm going to die-and it's because of Malfoy! How humiliating. I hope Ron doesn't find out what happened-maybe Malfoy will leave once he's killed me and nobody'll know…_

_Wait-What's he doing-oh no you don't-_

_Ha! At least I can still remember how to knee a guy in the-oh dear-that man has got to be the biggest person I have ever seen _(besides Dudley of course. Frankly, I'm surprised the man's legs can stand the crushing force his stomach must have…But this fellow was huge. It's just that 90 of his weight was in his arms. Which didn't help me much. And he was advancing on me...my body was already whimpering from the pain he was bound to inflict on me).

Just when things were starting to look their bleakest, some thing wonderfully fantastic and amazing happened.

The loo door opened. And in walked in two massive women with enormous, shocking-pink handbags clutched in their impossibly long, and equally shockingly-pink fingernails.

Malfoy and his cronies stopped mid-smirk.

"I swear, girl, if he ever tries somthin' like that aginn I am gonna-" 

The woman on the right stopped mid-sentence to consider the six men in black robes, cloaks and masks carrying little bits of wood. 

"Whatchu doin' to that girl?" she asked her hands planted firmly on her hips.

Malfoy coughed uncomfortably. "Madam, if you would kindly-"

"I _said_, Whatchu doin' to that girl?"

"Nothing that concerns-OOF!" The woman's enormous handbag flew out of nowhere, smacking Malfoy clean across the face.

The woman looked as dangerous as Mrs. Weasley during menopause (let me just tell you that I don't say that about anyone-especially after she chased Mr.Weasley round their kitchen table with a pair of scissors, threatening to "even the deal" after he suggested she go work on dinner during one of their rows...).

And that was when the sumo-sized thug, strangling me in a headlock, screamed like a little girl.

Everyone in the woman's loo froze. And stared.

"_Hermione?_" said someone (three guesses who) behind the door. "Is that you?"

"Ron!" I gasped, still half-strangled by the-er-girlman. "In here!"

Ron pushed open the door to find:

a) me, still being strangled by the giant Roguer

b) Malfoy massaging his red cheek and cursing more than Filch during the infamous House-Elf Strike (which, if anyone asks, I had no part in). Heheh-the poor caretaker had to handle _all _three meals for _all_ four houses _and _do all the dishes. He could be seen, weeks later, getting into rows with Mrs. Norris, saying this was all her fault, then apologizing over and over to the cat, saying that work was just getting to him and their love could withstand anything...yes, well we knew he was already insane, right?

c) The two hippo-like women glaring at the mass of Roguers, who were looking like deer caught in headlights.

He blinked, drinking in the whole scene. I saw his right hand twitch toward his back pocket.

"Ron-_no!_ They're muggles!" I said, jerking my head toward the two plump women standing matter-of-factly in the circle of frozen Roguers.

"_Excuse me?_" said one of them.

Oh, crap.

Ron looked at a loss at what to do.

"Not you-"I said, thinking fast, "_them"_. I nodded at the two Roguers behind her.

They hissed.

I stomped my foot in frustration. I was _really _fed up with this whole situtation now. I didn't care if they pounded me to an inch of my life, I just wanted to get out of the _stupid, stinking _bar already!

"Alright, LISTEN UP!" I had lost it. "You and you," I said, pointing at the two that had hissed at being called muggles. "Get over yourselves. And LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!"

They stepped forward. Actually, it was more like they glided over. And the lights flickered, then went out.

"What the _hell _is goin' on?" said one of the women, before she screamed.

"Oh, god," I breathed, "Dementors".

**A/n Well, there it is. Chapter Six. And I _promise _I'll update a LOT faster, now that finals are over and I'm out for the summer. As always, review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/n: Ages, right? But I'm coming back, swinging.**

The dementor glided slowly closer. My teeth rattled with the sudden coldness. Growing up with two dentists as parents, I recollected that teeth-chattering was very bad for your jawbone, and could result in excessive clenching and grinding, which just isn't good for your molars.

While I thought about this, and how my now-perfect-teeth-thanks-to-Madam-Pomfrey-and-her-teeth-shrinking-charm-abilities would no longer be so perfect and maybe Ron would cut his tongue on my newly-jagged molars if he ever Frenched me, the dementor came to a halt right in front of me.

"Fear me," it said.

"What?"

It tilted its head (or its hood, rather, under which I can only assume is some sort of head. Or maybe it's just a giant pair of lips or something, you know, for the much dreaded and generally feared Kiss? Must remember to ask Harry), as if to say "Are you dense?"

"No I'm not dense," I said, forgetting that the dementor only said this in the sad world of my imagination.

It was the dementor's turn to look confused. As much as a creature with no visible facial expressions can look confused. "What?"

Something was definitely off here. As far as I know (which is a long ways, let me tell you. I didn't read half the Hogwarts library _and _interview all the portraits on floors three through six for beans), dementors don't have the ability to chat with their victims. And I was pretty sure it was highly uncharacteristic of said creatures to scratch (again, I could only assume) its nose, at least not while on the pretense of being scary.

"Nothing," I said, and without further warning, I pounced on the "dementor" and poked my wand straight into its hood.

"OWWWWWW!" it howled, flailing backwards with me on top. It was like that horrid carnival ride my mother dragged my on when I was nine. He bucked and jumped just like the stupid "Rodeo Randy's Bucking Bronto Ride". The room blurred as I was being swung round, my head banging into the phony dementor's shoulder again and again. Luckily, this time, I managed to hold down my dinner.

However, just as I was congratulating myself for not spewing sick over everyone, a very large-and very human-fist flashed suddenly out of the robes, and swung spectacularly into my chin.

Pain exploded into my jaw as tiny white stars popped in front of my eyes. I was flying backwards, through blackness and I remembered nothing more.

Wet. That was the first sensation that came to me as consciousness slowly crept back. Wet on my chin. Someone was dabbing something on it, I thought, as I blinked.

"Hey," said Ron, grinning down at me. "Nice of you to join us," he said in the perfect cinematic cliché. Like it isn't mandatory that in every film where the hero's lover regains consciousness, only to find her true love leaning over her, tending to her wounds etc. etc., he must say those six words to her, and therefore seem terribly clever and witty etc. etc. etc.

But I let it pass. "What happened?" I asked, inwardly wincing. Another typical line. You'd think this dialogue was written for us in some terribly cliché and predictable romance novel. Or fanfiction.

"Ron, here, Stupefied all of those Death Eaters, and really clocked the guy who hit you," said Seamus, a look of nostalgia washing over him. "I came over as soon as I heard of those large ladies shouting. Woman's got a set of pipes," he said, nodding appreciatively.

"Both of them, being Muggles, are getting their memories wiped right now," said Ron, still dabbing some white potion (not unlike the stuff Fred and George gave me to clear up the punching-glove-in-a-box-induced black eye, years ago) on my chin, but also looking at me intently. "Are you alright?"

His blue eyes shone with concern, and I struggled to fight down a blush. This was happening more and more frequently. It was getting silly.

"Hermione?" he said, quietly.

And without thinking, I kissed him.

My stomach exploded with a shockwave of electrical current, coursing into my arms and legs like lightning, filling my limbs with a lead-like weight, and at the same time inducing the sensation of flying, or falling. My stomach plummeted thousands of feet, while I was still laying there under Ron. And only when I realized that he was kissing back did I pull away.

"I-I mean," he stammered, and I could just tell. It was a mistake. He hadn't meant it. He never wanted to-how could I have been so stupid? I had completely shattered the small bubble of hope that was growing over the past couple of days, that we could be good friends again, and maybe I could find out why, beyond all reason he had not written to me in years.

I scrambled out from under him and ran through the bar's exit, bowing my head to hide the small streams running down my face before Apparating to Ginny's place.

"_There_ you are I've been trying to reach you for ages, I forgot to tell you not to get carnations, Harry's allerg-what's wrong?"

"I've messed up everything," I said, in spite of myself. Yep, I realize this is another one of those "lines found in more than seven movies, especially chicflicks". But I didn't very much care at the moment.

"What's my prat of a brother done to you? This time, I should say," said Ginny as she flicked her wand at the kettle on the stove, which shrieked as steam poured out of its spout.

I shook my head. "It's not him," I said as she passed me a cup of Earl Grey tea in a small blue china cup. "Well, it is _him_," I said to the skeptical look she threw me. "I mean that it's not him that's done something to me. It's the other way around, actually."

She waited for me to continue as I paused, taking a long sip of the scalding-hot drink. "I kissed him."

She looked at me, her eyes widening. "That's wonderful!" she said at last, jumping up to hug me, and then stopping halfway, almost comically, as if she had run into an invisible brick wall..

"Why were you crying, then? What happened?" she asked as she slowly sat back down.

I took another small sip, and put my cup down, lost in thought.

"He didn't-well he didn't exactly say-but I'm sure I saw-well he didn't like it."

"This is _Ron _we're talking about?"

"Yes."

"Ron Bilious Weasley?"

"Ye-his middle name is Bilious?"

She nodded. "The same Ron Bilious Weasley that's been pining after you for –what-ten years now?"

"I blinked. "I don't know about Hogwarts, but he certainly didn't after-he never wrote-"

She waved her hand impatiently. "Because he was scared!"

"Of-of me?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes you! He's only liked you since your third year, and ever since he's acted like a complete idiot around you, picking fights and the like. He's like the little muggles Mum used to read to me about, putting their fancy's pigtails into the inkwell, just because he likes her. Ron only just realized what an arse he'd made of himself in front of you the whole time you two were at Hogwarts, and he was so embarrassed he moved into the dorms of the Auror-Training Base and never spoke a word to you since. Until a few days ago, that is."

I stared at the redhead in amazement. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," I said. She nodded, sympathetically. "How do you know all this?"

She shrugged. "Overheard Harry and him having a chat in Harry's apartment while I was stopping by to pick up some-ah-lost garments."

She had that mischievous glint in her eye. I shuddered at the mental picture.

Ginny glanced at her small kitchen clock, declared it was much too late for me to travel home by myself, and insisted that I stayed the night.

She unfolded the futon in her den, gave me a couple of blankets, a pillow and suddenly hugged me.

"The prat'll come round. You'll see."

The next morning I woke up tangled in impossibly twisted sheets, that had wrapped themselves around my legs so many times that it took a good couple of tugs to get free. It had been a fitful, almost sleepless night, as I relived the kiss over and over (which was nice), but also agonized about what would happen when I'd see him again. My initial plan was to avoid him like the plague, but as he was my other best friend's best man, while I'm Ginny's Maid of Honor (same wedding, of course. This whole thing would be just silly, otherwise), we were bound to meet sooner or later.

Please, Merlin, let it be later.

I was sifting through the refrigerator, trying to find orange juice, when hard tapping noise came from the window. It was a delivery owl with the _Daily Prophet_. Since Ginny was not up yet, I fished into my purse and dropped two bronze knuts into the Barn Owl's leather pouch. I then untied the newspaper and watched the bird disappear into the grey sky.

I slapped the _Prophet_ onto Ginny's kitchen table and went to have another look in the fridge. And did a double-take. Right on the front page was Ron, grinning sheepishly up at me. The headline blared: MINISTRY AUROR ROUNDS UP DEATH EATERS-exclusive interview inside!

I flipped to the article and read:

_Ministry of Magic's Junior Auror Ronald Weasley, 23 was reported to have single handedly captured eight Death Eaters, now re-named Roguers by the public for their redundant loyalty to the deceased He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Only their leader, Draco Malfoy, son of notorious Lucius Malfoy, did not go quietly, and allegedly knocked out three of his fellow Roguers with a Trip Jinx. "He's really the hero," says Weasley, "Malfoy had already knocked out half of his cronies by the time I acted. Also, my friend Hermione Granger helped disarm one of them, who had on one of those fake dementor suits, which are charmed to give off the effects of a real dementor. We have no idea why he was dressed like that, but we think it was to try to scare Hermione, who is a Muggleborn, as their sick idea of fun. But of course, she's way too intelligent, and did not fall for the idiot's trick." These costumes, called Dementor Disguises, can be found, ironically, at the popular joke shop Weasley Wizard Wheezes, run by Ronald Weasley's older brothers George and Fred Weasley. Draco Malfoy had no comment for the _Prophet, _except "I'll be back, Granger."_

Now that just takes the cake.

**A/n: For _Black Hawk Down_, my summer reading book, bringing back the need to procrastinate, and therefore write fanfiction. Also, I know the whole "he didn't mean it" plotline is The Oldest plot in the book, but it fit here, and I'm keeping it. Unfortunately I can't update in the next two weeks because I have to do all of my summer vacation homework that I've neglected to do over the last two months, and then I'm going on a family trip to Hershey, PA. I've got idea, though, about what's coming next, so it should be a LOT faster than last time. **

**REVIEW:)**


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